


The Gang Goes Hollywood

by draculard



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bestiality, Bottom Fred Jones, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Midnight Cowboy AU, Multi, Multiple Pov, Reality TV, Sex Work, Sexual Coercion, Show Business Politics, Top Scooby Doo, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Scooby, Shaggy, Daphne, and Velma make it big.Fred doesn't.
Relationships: Daphne Blake/Norville "Shaggy" Rogers, Fred Jones/Scooby Doo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	The Gang Goes Hollywood

**VELMA**

It was no surprise what happened to Fred, not to the analytical mind. He was a big fish in a small pond; for us, all throughout our childhood, he was our leader. He was the guy who made the plans, who laid the traps, who pulled the gang together.

But there’s no need for that when you’re doing reality TV.

When every encounter is scripted.

The producers saw no need for him; his role, they said, could be better played by Shaggy, who had the goofy charisma a young audience would appreciate. In the end, the only person surprised by the decision was Fred.

He never recovered from that. Not really.

* * *

**SHAGGY**

It’s, like, inevitable, man. Like, some people got it and some people don’t, you know? Freddy just didn’t got it. One minute he’s like the leader of our gang and the next minute  — zoinks! Bye bye, Freddy. 

So, like, here’s what happened, man: the producers come in and they say, like, Freddy, man, you’re a real stick in the mud. Like, nobody wants to watch some stiff in an ascot lead a mystery gang, man. The leader of the group has to have IT, man. You gotta have pizzazz, you gotta have gumption, you gotta have charm.

And you gotta have family connections, of course. This is Hollywood, after all. And nobody’s ever heard of Fred Jones, no. But Norville Rogers? Son of Colton and Paula Rogers?

Yeah, I think I’m good to go. I think I'm Gucci.

Bye, Freddy. Like, have a good life, man.

* * *

**DAPHNE**

I was heartbroken, of course, when Freddy got the boot. Don’t get me wrong, Shaggy’s groovy and all, but he’s not someone I ever saw as star material. Back home, Shaggy was … well, shaggy. Shaggy hair, shoddy clothes, unshaved face. Who would look twice at him? Just another deadbeat stoner living out of his van.

But here, in the glamorous world of Hollywood, guys like Shaggy stick out. And guys like Freddy  — handsome, clean-cut, well-dressed  — just don’t. 

I’ll admit, it took me a while to adjust to the idea of Shaggy as the romantic lead. Every reality show needs one, of course. The first season, there’s no romance, but that’s how you hook the audience for seasons two and three. You sprinkle in some hints, you let the tension build. It gets people going like you wouldn’t believe.

There were a few nights, for sure, where I couldn’t stop thinking about him. You don’t date someone for so long and then just forget about them overnight. But what it comes down to in the end is that Freddy was just my childhood sweetheart. Will he always mean a lot to me? Of course. But everyone knows childhood sweethearts aren’t built to last.

We’re grown-ups now. It’s time to move on.

* * *

**SCOOBY**

Rah, I know what rappened to Reddy. Rere’s the deal.

I was walking down Rollywood Roulevard, and reep in mind this was the Reventies. Rollywood Roulevard wasn’t the type of place you walked down back then without rooking over your roulder the whole way. Rug realers, rostitutes, rival gangs  — Rollywood Roulevard had the whole bunch.

I’m just trying to get by, minding my own rusiness, reeping my head down, when I bump into some rasshole who isn’t watching where he’s going. I pull back, I say, “Ratch it, raggot!” and the guy just ducks his head rike, “Rorry, bro,” and keeps moving.

But I’m thinking, now why does this guy rook so ramiliar?

Ronde hair. Broad chest. He’s naked from the waist up, wearing these tight reather pants, but he’s got a rascot hooked around his neck.

And I’m thinking … oh my Rod. 

That’s Reddy!

So what do I do? I call after him, right? I go, “Reddy, man, rait up!” But he just reeps on ralking away, faster and faster. Of rourse, he’s not match for a Reat Dane. I catch up to him in no time. I grab him by the arm, I says, “Reddy, man, rhat gives? Rhat you doing down here?”

He starts crying. He says, “Scoob, I just can’t do it, man. Every night I’m out here bustin’ my ass to make rent. I’m trapped in this city, man, I got nowhere to go, I got no job, no money, no friends.”

Rell, rhat could I do, hearing my old friend ralling apart rike that, right in front of me? Rhat kind of heartless bastard would I be if I just stood by?

I tells him, “Reddy, man. I got money.”

I shows him my wallet. Hundies out the wazoo. I rooks him in the eye, I says, “I got you, Reddy.”

His rips are trembling. You can see the ratitude in his eyes.

“Ret’s go to my place,” I says. “I’ll take care of you from now on.”

* * *

**FRED**

Day after day. Man after man. One degradation after the next.

It wears on you. It wears on your soul.

How many dicks can you suck before it breaks you? How many cocks can you take up the ass, no lube, no condom? How many sores can you discover, how many pills can you take to numb the pain?

But pills cost money. Booze costs money.

And how do you make money in Hollywood? You get famous or you get bent.

You lose your pride first. You lose your dignity, your self-esteem. You lose your car, then you lose your apartment. You downgrade. You move in with friends. You learn how to put up with roving hands in the middle of the day when you’re trying to sleep; you learn how to forget which ‘friend’ is touching you against your will.

You learn how to suck off a dog.

You learn how to take a Great Dane’s dick.

You learn to smile. You learn to like it.

* * *

**THE GANG**

That’s show business, baby.


End file.
